A String of Jet
by nagato chinatsu
Summary: Jet is a black stone, used in Victorian mourning jewelry. Maggie Sharp has a jet necklace with fifteen beads. Each bead reminds her of a day, a special day with Artemis.
1. 1885

I own nothing. Also the algebra is probably all wrong. Hell, it's July, what did you expect?

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December 14th, 1885

Margaret Duncan was a good student. She really was, honestly. Her parents were very proud of her good marks. Maybe she would even go to a women's college like her Aunt Dot. But one wintery afternoon, she was having a hard time focusing in class. It was because she had skipped her breakfast. No, that's a lie. She ate a proper breakfast of oatmeal and raisins, with a mug of black coffee. It was because she was cold in the schoolroom. No, that was a lie, too. Maggie was wearing a thick shawl, one she knitted herself.

Oh, she might as well admit it. It was because she was watching the boy next to her draw. He held the pencil poised above the paper, brow furrowed. Then, an idea seemed to hit him, and, forehead smoothing, he lightly sketched a circle. A curve beneath the circle, and there was a head. She felt like she was intruding on something private and secret. It was a wicked thrill. What was his name again? Something odd. Apollo, or something.

It was like he was breathing life into the face on the page. A pointed nose was created in two strokes. Thin lips with a few swipes of the pencil. Quite suddenly, he put his pencil down and started to look up. Maggie flinched, and sat up straight as a ramrod, staring at the blackboard. The picture of an attentive student, she began to copy down lessons, lessons she no longer really cared for. _Using functions and exponential growth in everyday life. Functions can be useful, but only when written..._ She stopped. Her seat mate had gone back to the page, and evidently had not noticed her watching him.

The face was becoming more detailed. High cheekbones. Freckles. Squinty looking eyes. Light hair in two plaits. Her breathing began to quicken. She lost a bit of her cautiousness and stared unabashedly. If she leaned just a bit closer, their shoulders would touch. It felt like she was paralyzed with electricity. Maggie wanted so desperately to move her shoulder, but she couldn't move a muscle. Why had she worn her shawl? The schoolroom was so hot. Her palms were sweaty. Far too hot for December. She was about to combust.

"Miss Duncan?" said a stern voice. Her only response was an involuntary choking noise of surprise. The boy looked up at her, gaze a little mocking. Oh, God, his eyes were so beautiful.

"Um. Yes, Mrs. Campbell?"

"What axis is represented by 'C' in the expression?" Hot, burning, shame flooded into her cheeks. Every stare in the room was aimed at her. She shrugged off her shawl and felt no cooler.

"I don't know."

"Look at the graph," said the teacher, looking almost amused with Maggie's torment.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Look at your notes."

"I didn't take any notes." It was not worth this, watching him draw. She had been daft to think otherwise. Her eyes darted guiltily back to his notes, desperately seeking some sort of answer.

"If you can't tell me, perhaps Mr. Sharp can? Or was he busy drawing?" The boy next to her sat up straight, looking confident.

"No. I was busy drawing. Would you like to see it? I think it's pretty good," he said proudly. His friends all laughed, and Mrs. Campbell's eyes narrowed.

"You will both see me after class and make up the notes," she hissed, "And Artemis Sharp, you will stand in the corner for the next hour."

Maggie's eyes welled up with tears. She had never stayed after class before. Sharp, however, nodded as if he expected their teacher's reaction. Before he got up for his punishment, he scrawled a caption beneath the face. He left his notes behind. Once he reached the corner, she stared at the boyish scrawl, and her chest seemed to constrict.

He had written, "The Bonny Margaret Duncan."


	2. 1885 Again

I own nothing.

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December 24th, 1885

She stood on the fire escape of Jeanne Thompson's flat. Why, why, why, did she agree to come to Jeanne's Christmas party? Maggie hated parties. She hated dancing and socializing, she hated making small talk, and she _hated_ getting dressed up. So why was she here? Because her dear friend Erin wanted her to come. Well, no. The real, painful reason was that Artemis Sharp would be in attendance. It was amazing, his ability to turn her into some mooning schoolgirl, twisting her skirts at a dance. Maybe she hated him for it, just a little.

The snow on the fire escape had made the hem of her dress soggy, but she didn't really care. It was her sister Gwen's, anyway. Itchy fake green velvet that covered her from her wrists to her pinching black shoes. Her hair had been piled on her head in an attempt to make her look sophisticated. Gwen had taken one look and said, "You look like a beanstalk."

From the other side of the window, she could hear loud laughter and singing. She felt like she was in a different world from the other partygoers. Brushing away the snow with a hand, she sat on the ladder and gazed at the stars, faintly visible through the coal smog issuing from a factory. "A dying breed," her father had said. "Soon we'll all lose our jobs to monkeys." She could see Venus, piercing through the cold night. In her world, all was quiet.

From inside, she heard a shriek, and she ignored it. Then there was a click of the window latch, and she flinched.

"Margaret?"

"Hello, Jeanne."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, just wanted to get a little air."

"Oh, er... See you, then."

"Aye." Jeanne's head retreated within the flat, and Maggie suddenly felt desolately, desperately, lonely. It had been daft of her to come. What did she expect to happen? It had just been a drawing. Oh, what if it was all a cruel joke? If Dean Kyles had said, "Artemis, it would be funny if you drew a picture of that ugly Duncan girl, made her think you fancied her!" She was a stupid lass, that was for sure.

It was Christmas Eve; she should be with her family. Maggie got up and pulled at the window frame. It didn't budge. Jeanne must have accidentally locked it behind her.

"HEY!" she yelled, patting the glass gingerly. "SOMEONE LET ME IN! I'M LOCKED OUT HERE!" No response came. She could hear strains of carols. "OI! I'M LOCKED OUT HERE!" After a good five minutes of this, Maggie swore and decided to climb the fire escape. It was only three floors down, anyway. Carefully, she felt the first rung of the ladder. It was covered in ice, and she didn't trust her shiny false leather shoes. It was a good thing her socks were wool, she thought as she tucked the shoes under her arm.

Six rungs later, her feet were soaked, and her fingers were numb. She was fairly certain she had trodden on the hem of Gwen's dress and ripped it a bit. At the second floor, she stopped and looked down. This was a bad idea. Suddenly, the fire escape seemed rickety and like to collapse. At any moment, certainly, there would be a great popping of rivets and the structure would topple over into the street. Maggie swayed a bit and clutched the railing. Gathering her courage, she made it down another seven delicate steps. One of her shoes fell out from under her arm, and onto the sidewalk below. She cursed softly, and rushed down the next ladder.

Another poor choice. Between the final rung and the ground, there was a distance of about two meters. She planned to dangle by her hands and let go, not falling very far. However, she went a little too fast in her haste to reclaim her shoe. Her hands slipped off the frozen metal, and she fell without even time to scream. With just a little "Oh!" of surprise, she tumbled to the ground and landed hard on her feet, ankle twisting beneath her.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Maggie muttered as she hopped on one foot. Her left ankle really hurt, and she bent it in an attempt to make it more comfortable. With a scream, she toppled over, clutching the joint. Passerby stopped and stared and the half mad beanstalk with a turned ankle. That's it. She was going to die in the gutter on Christmas Eve without her shoes on. They would find her frozen body in the morning, and everyone in the school would come to her funeral. Mrs. Campbell would sob and repent, admitting that no one gives a darn about functions in the real world. Gwen would say, "I always called her ugly, but I would give anything to see her wee little face one more time." Artemis Sharp would say, "She really fell for Dean's joke! Oh, well." And Jeanne Thompson would be overcome with such terrible guilt, she would run away to a convent and become a nun.

"Well," Maggie snapped. "Isn't anyone going to help me?" A man with a large, grey mustache and a brown tweed suit rushed to her side and helped her up. "_Thank_ you."

"Is your ankle broken?" he said, looking anxiously at his watch. She was probably making him late for something.

"Prolly just sprained. Will you get my shoe, sir? I appreciate it." After both shoes were on, she thanked him and sent him on his way. It was only two blocks to hop down like a demented lunatic. While she waited to cross the street, she heard someone calling her.

"Hey, Margaret! Margaret Duncan!" Maggie turned. It was Artemis Sharp, running towards her. For a second, she looked surprised, but she managed to shape her face into something a squick more disdainful.

"Aye?"

"I just..." he panted. "Before you left... wanted to say Happy Christmas." The young man straightened and squinted. "And what did you do to your ankle?"

"Turned it," Maggie said with the little dignity she could muster. "When I fell off the fire escape." He grinned, and she felt daft and melty inside.

"You're really something else, aye? No, don't look like that, it's a compliment. I reckon I should walk you home, if you can't walk."

"No, you don't have to-" she protested, not very determinedly. He wrapped an arm under her shoulders, and they crossed the street.

"That's it, lean on me." He must hear her heart pounding. How could he not, with it going like a drum? "Why did you take the fire escape anyway?"

"Got locked out. I didn't like the party, anyway."

"Well, Dean made me come. I didn't really want to. But I guess I wanted to see..." Artemis hesitated, reddening slightly. "My friends." She raised an eyebrow and accidentally stepped with her left foot. Maggie hissed.

"Agh..."

"You can swear, if you think that'll help-"

"Dammit! Ow, Goddammit to hell!"

"You are really something."

"Am I?" she said as they resumed their halting progress. He nodded, brown eyes dancing with mirth. "Well, this is my building," she said, pointing at the brick apartments. "We can sit on the stoop a bit."

Artemis helped Maggie ease herself on the top step, illuminated by a lone wormlamp. It seemed he had forgotten to remove his arm. "Cold, isn't it?"

"Aye, too cold." They sat in silence for a while.

"I'll be sixteen in five days," he suddenly said.

"Happy early birthday, then."

"Thanks, Margaret."

"You can call me Maggie, if you like." Their faces turned and he leaned in a bit. Just a squick closer and they'd be kissing... The fog from his breath was mingling with hers... And they simply stayed like that.

He was so disgustingly handsome. Eyes like honey, in a perfect petal shape. Not like her squinty black eyes. A straight nose. Hers was a bit crooked. Full, soft looking lips. Hers were thin and chapped. Artemis's breath caught.

"Bonny Maggie Duncan," he whispered. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, pure dead brilliant Artemis Sharp."

Oh, she loved parties, and that wonderful lass Jeanne Thompson.


	3. 1885, New Year's

I own nothing. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Scott-la came up with Artemis in an interview, and Margaret, I made up.

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December 31st, 1885

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Maggie smiled absentmindedly as she embroidered the neckline of a blouse. For the past week, she had done all her chores without being asked twice, and didn't pick fights with her sisters.

"What's with you?" asked Kennie suspiciously, as she wound her long blonde hair into a coil at the nape of her neck.

"Oh, nothing," she said, tying a knot for the center of a flower. Kendall and Gwendolyn exchanged glances.

"It's got to be something, Maggot. I haven't seen you look this happy since... I don't even know! I don't think I've ever seen you happy!" said Gwen, hemming a skirt.

"Aye, it's really odd." Kennie narrowed her eyes and peered at her younger sister. "You're _not_ taking opium, are you?"

"No! Of course not! I'm just happy."

"Oh God, Maggot's an addict."

"Kennie, it's worse. She's..." Gwen shook her head as if Maggie's fate was too awful to discuss. Kennie gasped, staring at her.

"_No!_"

"_Aye!_"

"I'm what?" she said rather anxiously.

"Ma!" they called in unison. "Maggot's in _love!_"

"Let me know when it's over!" Mrs. Duncan responded from the other room.

"I am not in love!" Maggie spluttered, putting the blouse down on the mahogany kitchen table. "And it's none of your bloody business if I am!"

"Oooh!"

"Maggot and her boyfriend, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"I hate you both," she growled.

"And that's the sister we know and love!" Gwendolyn said. "And by the way, you've sewn through the back of the shirt." Maggie checked, and sure enough her painstaking embroidery had accidentally shut up the neck hole. She swore softly, and stomped off to the room her sisters shared with her.

Her mother hummed the bridal march as she passed through the kitchen.

"I hate you all! I really hate you all!" Maggie muttered, slamming the door. _In love! I'm not in love with Artemis! I'm only fifteen, I'm too young to fall in love!_

Her family would never let her hear the end of this. At the desk she set to work with a pair of scissors, cutting away the threads. Bloody sewing. It was turning out so nicely, too! This was why she liked to knit. You don't have to focus, and you don't have to worry about stabbing your hand.

From across the room, Gwen's mirror seemed to glare at her. Maggie did not rise to the bait. Getting caught up in self pity was far too appealing right now, and she did not want to stare at her plain, pointy face any longer than she had to. With a final snip, she plucked away the last thread. The scissors felt heavy in her hand, and she got a mad idea. Artemis' comment had gotten her thinking about herself. Was she _really something?_ She had always been smart and cautious Margaret, who always played by the rules. In thirty seven minutes it would be 1886, a fresh start. She could look in the mirror and see someone she liked. Before she had time to change her mind, she lifted the scissors, and with two quick chops, her braids fell in her lap.

She ruffled her hair experimentally. It felt far lighter and cooler, and Maggie kept reaching up to tuck back strands that weren't there anymore. The feeling was both terrifying and liberating, and she turned to face the mirror, giving an experimental smile. _Not bad, Duncan, not bad at all._ There was a rap at the door.

"Oi, Maggot! Let me in, will you? I can't find the pincushion!" Kennie called. Maggie answered the door and her sister's jaw dropped. "What in blazes did you do to your _hair?_ It looks like it was cut by a strafing hawk!"

"I think it looks rather nice," she defended, tugging her hair to her chin.

"Aye, you'll be the most dashing boy in your school," she said, rolling her eyes. "But what are you going to tell Ma? She'll have kittens!"

"I don't know. But think about it, it'll be cooler this way."

"Cooler? It's December, Mags!" Kendall groaned, slumping against the doorway.

"Do I look like... something?"

"I'll say. Something daft. Well, so long as it's your head, not mine." She patted her bun of waist length hair as if to check it was still in there. Maggie handed her the pincushion, and shooed her eldest sister away.

"I think it looks quite Parisian," she told the mirror. "_Bonjour, Madmoiselle Duncan."_ This was the furthest extent of her French.

The door swung open with a bang.

"Maggot, what did you do to your _hair?_"

"It's getting awfully busy in here," she announced to the mirror. "Like a railway station."

"It looks like it was cut by a lunatic."

"It's _French,_ Gwen."

"How do you say 'daft' in French?"

"I don't know."

"What'll you tell Ma?"

"What'll you tell me about what? Oh, Margaret!" her mother said from the doorway. "What did you-"

"Don't! All of you, stop! I cut my hair! Big bloody deal!"

"She did it because she's in _love,"_ Kennie stage-whispered. "Makes you do odd things."

Maggie threw up her hands. _There is simply no dealing with your family!_


	4. 1886

I own nothing. And the wrestling thing, I don't know if boys actually do that, but my friends tend to get in good-natured catfights. Though once, I was shot in the eye with a rubber band at point-blank range. Didn't go to the nurse, because the nurse is for pansies.

Speaking of pansies in both the literal and slang sense, Victorians made insane Valentines. These were not your tacky, crappy, punny, give-one-to-the-whole-class type Valentines. Their Valentines had dried flowers, collages, lace, and even pieces of mirrors.

The point is, those tokens of affection were _badass._

And no, I don't know anything about Glasgow. Victoria Bridge might not have been named that at the time, because after Queen Vicky died, they named every third item in the UK after her. Everything else is named after Admiral Nelson or Princess Di.

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February 14th, 1886

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Saint Valentine's Day is an entirely stressful experience that is not a squick better when you're in love. If anything, it's far worse, especially when you're sitting next to the object of your affection every day during math. And your old cow of a teacher seems to be actively trying to destroy any shred of romance. Miss Turner had showed them examples of romantic poetry. Mr. Hadley had taught them about Antony and Cleopatra. Even the boring old Mr. Lionel had taught a lesson on love in relation to natural selection, much to the amusement of the class. But Mrs. Campbell gave them a series of very complex algebra problems to solve, and now Maggie Duncan was tapping her forehead with the eraser end of her pencil, trying desperately to remember what a reciprocal was. _It's when you multiply by... No, that doesn't seem right._ She rubbed at the nape of her neck, pulling at her hair as if it would pull a lever in her brain. _Reciprocal. A reciprocal is... Daft. They're absolutely one hundred percent daft and nobody would give a damn if they vanished forever._ Quickly, she glanced over at Artemis, who had long since given up and was now drawing hot-air balloons floating up the margins of his paper.

"What's a reciprocal?" she hissed. He started, staring uncomprehendingly for a second, then blinked hard.

"When you take the inverse of the fraction," he whispered, moving his pencil tip like a clock going from twelve to six.

"Thanks a million." For the next ten minutes, she worked in silence, then put her paper back on the desk. Maggie hadn't been receiving very good marks in math this year, though she did well in her other classes. Before the test, however, she studied like mad, so her grades weren't _awful._

Artemis was lightly drumming his fingers on the desk. Three times now, he had straightened, glanced at Maggie, then slumped, looking defeated. Once he had started to say something, but then thought the better of it and tried to pass it off as a bizarre cough. She tried to solve the rest of the algebra exercises, and ended up leaving two unanswered, three half-completed, five hesitantly solved, and one with a large question mark next to it.

Her seat mate was now writing on a scrap of paper, shielding it from her gaze with his hand. After a few seconds, he erased whatever he wrote, frowning. Suddenly, the bell rang with a jarring trill. Both teenagers jumped and began to hurriedly pack their things, flinching every time their elbows touched. How much longer was she going to feel awkward and flushed whenever she was around Artemis? It was getting barking inconvenient.

At lunch, she sat next to her friend Erin Ferguson, who was giggling at something or other. It took Maggie until she was halfway through her sandwich to realize it was her.

"Right, what's so funny?" she said crossly. Erin only smirked in response, twisting a wildly red curl between her fingers.

"It's just that- I mean- haha, it's just so cute! And really obvious, too!"

"What is?" Maggie asked darkly, guessing where Erin was going with this.

"You and _him!_ Oh, but I've said too much, I told him I wouldn't tell anyone!" A wonderful leaping sensation in her heart. Artemis Sharp had told Erin he liked her, that must be it.

"Well," she said, a grin creeping across her face. "He is awfully handsome." Her friend giggled again, and Maggie no longer found it maddening.

"I guess he is!"

"And those lovely brown eyes..."

"_Brown_ eyes? Mags, he has- wait, who are you talking about?"

"Who are _you_ talking about?"

"Liam Fielder, of course! Haven't you noticed how much he likes you?" Maggie's jaw dropped.

"What? No!" It's not that he was a bad sort, he just wasn't... well, you know. _Him._ And that someone fancied her! That hadn't ever happened to her before. _When it rains, it pours._

"Do you want me to tell him you fancy him?"

"No! Don't you dare, Ferguson!" She'd deal with Liam later. Somehow.

"Mags, you're no fun." They returned to their food in silence.

French and drawing seemed to pass by in a blur, like a vague memory drifting away as Maggie slowly put on her coat, trying to stay in the classroom as long as possible. In the corner, Artemis and Dean were having a conversation as they put on their wooly hats. Then Dean glanced in her direction, punching his friend's arm in a way that was half threatening and half friendly. With a bang, Artemis kicked at Dean's shin but hit the leg of a desk. With a weary sigh, Dean reached an arm around his friend's neck and got him in a headlock. Artemis flailed wildly until he was released. Dean then asked him something, face skeptical. Artemis only shook his head wildly, but the taller boy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to Maggie, ignoring his struggles to free himself. The entire conflict was fairly silent, with only a few muffled bangs and grunts.

"Hey, Margaret."

"Hello,"she said, trying to keep her voice normal as possible as Artemis squirmed in Dean's grip.

"Arty has this hot air ballooning-"

"-Dean-stop-it-we're-only-bothering-her_-"_

"-This hot air ballooning demonstration at half past five and he was wondering-"

"-Come-on-she-won't-want-to-go-shut-it-shut-it-come-on-"

"-If you'd like to come with him. He was trying to ask you all day, but he couldn't, because he's apparently scared of lasses."

"_Bloody hell, Dean_, I am not-"

"Oh. Er, aye. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot, actually." Maggie said very softly. Their struggle stopped, Artemis grinning shyly.

"I told you she'd say yes," Dean said, releasing Artemis. "I _swear,_ mate, for a confident guy..."

"So, I'll pick you up at quarter past, then?" he mumbled as his friend left.

"Aye, thanks." The smile stayed on her face past the school office, the tobacconist, the hardware shop, and all the way down the rest of the five blocks and two flights of stairs home.

At thirteen minutes after five, he was on her stoop. Before he could come up and be interrogated by her family, she pulled on her boots, coat and hat and rushed to meet him halfway up the stairs.

"Hello."

"Hello," she grinned.

"It's lovely weather for ballooning," Artemis said, boots clomping on the wooden steps, "But we'll be tethered, just in case."

"We get to go up?"

"Aye, technically, we're supposed to pay a fee, but I've been helping for years, so..." He showed her two faded tickets, then replaced them in one of the many pockets of his overlarge brown coat.

"So, where do we go?" He held open the door and they stepped into the dry winter air.

"Just the Green. I brought sandwiches in case we get hungry."

"Thanks."

"It's no problem." They turned right on the next street, headed for Victoria Bridge. Maggie wrapped her shawl tighter about her head. "Not cold, are you?"

"Only a squick."

"Do you want my gloves?"

"Oh, no! I mean, that's very nice of you, but it's fine. I'm fine." She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her mother's overcoat. The wind had stirred a bit, ruffling Artemis' pale hair from where it poked out under his cap.

"Hope it doesn't get windy," he muttered.

"Aye." So far, everything about the day felt vaguely awkward and clunky yet rather wonderful. "Just wondering, did you make Valentine's cards when you were little?"

"No, I don't think so. My sister Di does, though. She's ten, pure dead adorable. Calls me Missy, though."

"My sisters call me Maggot." He let out a bark of a laugh.

"No, sorry, that's not funny. Well, a bit, but..."

"Some pair we are, Missy and Maggot," she said ruefully as they walked along the bridge, staring at the dark water below.

"A great duo. But did you ever make the cards? Just for a lark?"

"Yeah."

"This year I got really bored so... Even though it's really girly and daft, I made a few. Out of boredom. I think I have one in my pocket, if you want it," Artemis said, keeping his voice casual.

"Oh, and... I made a scarf the other day when I didn't have anything to do. And I didn't get you anything for your birthday, or Christmas, so if you want it..." Maggie pulled the red wool scarf out of her bag, and he gave her an envelope. They sat on a bench and she opened it. Inside was a carefully made card with paper roses cut out and pasted to it, around the word "Valentine."

"I know it makes me seem like a bit of a ninny," he said quickly. "But I thought you might like it."

"It's wonderful," she said honestly. "Do you like the scarf?"

"Yeah, it's great! Excellent colour," he said, wrapping it around his neck. "It was really kind of you."

"And the Valentine was kind, too." They began their journey again, kicking at the slush on the ground.

"I didn't make it because I was bored," he admitted.

"Same here, to be truthful."

"Maggie, I... I really fancy you," Artemis said in a rush. Speechless, she went bright red. There was a horrifyingly long pause. "So, er... Will you, you know, be my Valentine? Or not, if you think it's daft," he amended quickly.

"Oh, of course. I'd love that." Before she could stop herself, she reached over and took his gloved hand. "Valentines hold hands, right? That would be proper?" They entered the park through an impressive iron gateway, under the silent arches of bare trees. In a world of drab grey and brown, the scarf stood out like a beacon.

"Aye, it would. And... is it alright for Valentines to kiss?"

"I'm fairly certain of it," she breathed as Artemis leaned in, trembling hands on her shoulders. He was so close. Maggie could not think. She was about to combust...


	5. 1888

I own nothing. Back in the day, Glasgow had a looooot of riots and strikes n' all that craziness. And I got to thinking, if workers protested the mechanization of the factories, you can bet they were mad when they were all replaced by animals. So, you can imagine families like Maggie's getting very involved with things such as workers' unions.

Oh, and we're in the future now! I want to re-explain the premise. Each chapter is an important memory, so we'll skip about in time a bit.

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June 15th, 1888

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It was getting uneasy, the policemen on every corner. Not being rude or violent, but watching, always watching.

"You don't think there'll be any... trouble, will there?" Maggie asked Erin, clenching her arms tight to her sides. As they passed, one of the silent officers tipped his hat, and they both smiled at him uncomfortably. At his side, a fabricated bulldog glared at them, baring unnaturally sharp fangs.

"Don't worry, misses," he said pleasantly. "All safe around here, just a precaution." Both girls flinched. Clearly he had been eavesdropping.

"Like hell," Erin whispered as they hurried away. "Scary, innit?"

"I'll say. Tem's worried there'll be a riot."

"Well, if darling Artemis says it, it must be true," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up," Maggie blushed. "If there's a riot, do you think your da will go?"

"Oh, aye, definitely. And with good reason!"

"Erin."

"Six hundred good, honest, blokes from the shipyards, jobless!"

"Erin."

"So the Navy can use... use... Giant fish or something! I don't know!" She threw up her hands, pink with anger.

"Erin. Shut up, will you? Shut up."

"Aye, right... Sorry. It's the heat, I think. Driving everyone mad."

"Don't tell me you're going to the protest tonight."

"Of course I am, and you should, too! It's not violent, even. We just want to tell the company they can go and-"

"Erin."

"Boil their heads," she finished primly. "But Mags, I don't want to be the only girl there! Come on, we'll get to carry signs and the whole bit."

"No."

"Your da would have wanted you to go." Suddenly it went very, very quiet.

"You shut up about my da," Maggie growled.

"But you'll come with me."

"Absolutely not."

"Some friend you are," Erin spat, turning off on her street. Maggie curtseyed in a way that was deeply, satisfyingly sarcastic.

"Go jump in a lake, dear," she muttered pleasantly. A junior policeman snickered quietly and she gave him the kind of glare that burns. The rest of her journey was conducted in huffy silence. Go to the protest. Of course she wouldn't! Though her brothers-in-law who worked at the shipyard would probably attend. Hopefully Bobby and Ewan were wise enough to keep Gwen and a heavily expectant Kennie home. Dragging her da into it was just plain mean, though.

She was too hot, even in her thinnest dress with no petticoats. Maybe Erin was right, and the weather was driving everyone barmy. Kendall's feet were aching and swollen, Gwen's lovely hair was falling in sweaty wisps all over her forehead, and she hadn't seen Artemis with his shirtsleeves rolled down since late April.

He had been taken on as an apprentice for an aerial shipping company, working on one of the new hydrogen breathing zeppelins. Maggie had taken on a job as a waitress, which had good hours if you could deal with a few drunk men who thought it would be clever to pinch the waitress' bum. She never told Artemis, because she was dead certain he would track down the man and slit his throat or some other stupid thing. Speaking of him... She peered around a building and saw the telltale red silk of a balloon. Excellent, he was doing an exhibition.

By the time she reached the Green, the red balloon had gone down and a blue one with white stripes was ascending. Under the gentle collapse of the envelope, she could see an Artemis-sized lump, undoing the tethers beneath the billowing fabric. His friend Oliver held up one edge for him and he emerged, hair rumpled and holding the thick ropes in a coil. She stayed on the pedestrian path until they came over to say hello.

"Hey, Miss Duncan, how have you been?"

"Good, thanks, Oliver. Yourself?"

"Alright."

"You know, her birthday is in two days."

"Happy birthday, then! Oh, I've got to go help Jack, idiot's got the line all wrong..." The short man went off to give Jack an earful about handling lines.

"So..." he said, taking her arm. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"No idea. Surprise me."

"Hmm. That'll be fun. Now, tell me, how many Darwinist dogs do you think would fit in the Duncan residence? Don't look at me like that, it was a joke. No, I know what I'll get you."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"It's a surprise." They sat together on a bench, Artemis staring up at the cloudless sky. "I always wanted to be able to fly on days like this. Not with a balloon or anything, but wings."

"Lovely. You're not going to the demonstration tonight, are you?" A slight breeze stirred her hair where it met her collarbone.

"Bad idea to get involved in all that. It's a shame about the jobs, but I don't think there's anything that can be done."

"Erin wanted me to come."

"You said no, I hope?" he asked rather sharply. She nodded. "Good. I just wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to you, Maggie."

"Tem, there's really going to be a riot." It was not a question.

"Aye, probably. You know how it goes. Some drunk bloke pushes a cop, and before you know it the block's on fire." Despite the sweltering heat, she shivered. "Promise me you'll stay safe tonight."

"Course I will. You too, got it?"

"It'll all be fine."

He kissed her cheek, and they went their separate ways.

.

.

The yelling began at five. The police came at seven. Glass broke at nine. Maggie huddled under her comforter as if it would protect her from everything, or at least shut out the horrible yelling and coughing.

"Damn, it's tear gas!" The police dogs were barking now, snarling at and biting the protestors. "Get a rag, tie it over your face!"

"Bloody cops!" Erin was down there. Was she hurt? Trampled? She didn't like to think about it. Her hands clamped over her ears, so hard it was almost painful. _This is all the Darwinists' fault_, she decided, and she cried herself to sleep, something she hadn't done since Da had left.

In the morning, it was quiet and still. On the street beneath her window, she could see shards of broken bottles glinting in the sun. A beaten-up sign read, "MEN, NOT MONKEYS." They seemed like artifacts from a bad dream. The people on the pavement seemed to think so too, and they carefully, quietly avoided everything and everyone. A lone policeman with his arm in a sling stood guard at the corner.

She heard murmurs from the kitchen. Maybe one of her brothers-in-law had come with news, something she both anticipated and dreaded.

"Ma?" Maggie called blearily, opening the door to the kitchen. To her surprise, sitting at the table was none other than Artemis Sharp.

"Your friend came over to say hello," said her mother pleasantly, though her eyes were saying, _Margaret Irene Duncan, you're in trouble._ He turned, and suddenly she realized she was wearing nothing but her nightgown.

"I'll go get dressed."

"Do that," Mrs. Duncan said frostily.

"I-I shouldn't have intruded, sorry..." Artemis muttered. Maggie ran to her room, dressed at lightning speed, and hurriedly re-entered the room, though her blouse was misbuttoned. She took a seat at the table.

"There. I'm decent." she told her mother, who only took a sip of coffee in response. "Now, Tem, what happened last night?" He sighed, dragging the sound out.

"Protest made it across the bridge alright, then someone threw a bottle. It all went downhill after that. More policemen came, then more protesters. It was like a battle; probably two dozen people were injured. In fact, Dean had broken a few fingers last I heard. No deaths, thank God. But it's dead awful, isn't it?"

"Aye. I hope Erin's not hurt..."

"She'll be fine," he said bracingly, taking her hand. Her other hand traced nervous circles on the table. The things she had said yesterday! What if she never got the chance to apologize? Too terrible to consider.

"Right. I'll go put the kettle on and make breakfast, then," her mother said loudly.

"I got your present a day early." As he said this, she noticed a box at his feet. And the box was _moving._ Artemis set it on the table, and she cold have sworn it made a soft noise.

"Oh Lord, what did you do this time?"

"Open the box and find out, aye?" He looked oddly excited, almost feverish. With a click, she unhinged the front and out stepped a large grey cat with a droopy face.

"Tem, you got me a _cat?_!" The animal in question stared at her rather haughtily, flicking its tail.

"Not just any cat, this is Monty Sharp. Named after the Montgolfier brothers, of course."

"Who?"

"First men to go up in a hot-air balloon. They were French, flew in the year- Never mind, I'll get carried away. What's important is, Monty presented me with an interesting idea." He prodded the cat back into the box, then turned, taking both her hands in his.

"I'd love to hear this," Maggie said wryly.

"So. I happen to know that your Ma is allergic to cats. And if I took him, he wouldn't be yours, would he? You would have to live somewhere else to keep him. I happen to have just begun renting a flat."

"I can't live with you," she said, half laughingly, half confusedly. "Imagine what people would say!"

"You're right. It wouldn't be proper unless we were married." Artemis' face was casual, but his left hand was shaking a squick, a sure sign of nerves. "In case you've forgotten, eighteen is the marriage age."

"Are you trying to-? Spiders, you're serious? You want to marry me?"

"If you won't do it for Monty, do it for me. What do you say?" His grip on her hands tightened, and he stared at her, eyes shining with fervor. Maggie could not speak around the lump in her throat.

"Y-yes!" she finally choked, laughing shakily. "Of course! For you, though, not the cat." He grinned widely.

"Brilliant!" At this, she smiled tremulously, then burst into tears, instantly feeling stupid for doing so.

"But you're still seventeen."

"Well, aye, but I thought I should give you time between the proposal and the wedding, so we can plan and such."

Maggie nodded happily. This all seemed so surreal, like a dream. She wiped her eyes on the hem of her sleeve, and Artemis was blinking a bit more than was normal, though he was grinning like a lunatic.

From the doorway came a sneeze: there stood her mother with a tea tray, looking rather cross.

"He _didn't_ give you a _cat,_ did he? I happen to be allergic."

"It won't be a problem, Ma."


End file.
